


The Seven Days of Halloween- 2019, The Seven Deadly Sins Affair

by mrua7



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Danger, Death, Dreams, Food, Gen, Halloween, Nightmares, Partnership, Revenge, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 05:13:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21173993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrua7/pseuds/mrua7
Summary: Something has happened to Illya Kuryakin, and as he begins to act strangely Napoleon must come to a decisions as what to do.





	1. LUST

_**Lust** is a psychological force producing intense wanting or longing for an object, or circumstance fulfilling the emotion. Lust can take any form such as the lust for sexuality, love, money or power. It can take such mundane forms as the lust for food as distinct from the need for food._  
  
  
  
  
Illya was angry, the angriest his partner had ever seen him. It was rare for the Russian lose his composure, but in this case it wasn’t unwarranted.

Napoleon was angry too, but his ire was tempered and under control.

Kuryakin stomped, strode back and forth, his hands waving in the air as he raged.

“THRUSH are beyond animals! They enter an area and wipe out the indigenous population...innocents who never did anything wrong in their lives. Men, women...children. How could they do this to babies?”

Napoleon knew of his partner’s childhood, how he and his family suffered under the Nazi invasion of Kiev. He lost everyone, including a baby sister. He presumed Illya’s reaction to the death of so many innocents at the hands of THRUSH had triggered something visceral.

Illya hadn’t shared much information about his past; it was too personal, too crushing.

Solo only discovered how Illya’s baby sister died during the war at the hands of German soldiers who had blown up the family home while the little girl hiding alone in the attic.

Illya was only eight or nine when it happened, and he was devastated by it and he carried the pain to it this day.

It was during an assignment when Kuryakin had been heavily drugged that he began to hallucinate and relive that fateful day.*

He spoke to his dead sister, filled with the guilt of having left her alone to go look for food. A child himself, he was the provider and protector for her...Katiya.

Napoleon was sure that traumatic event from Illya’s childhood was in the back of his mind, and in part the reason why he was reacting so emotionally.

That was a giveaway right there as Illya Kuryakin always kept his emotions in check, closeting them away. It was a protection mechanism perhaps, but not today.

“Illya, you need to stop. Take a deep breath and calm down. I need your head here with me, capisce?”

Kuryakin froze, he squared his shoulders and took that deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“I apologize for my outburst; it will not happen again.”

“Will you please stop that? It’s all right to feel things Illya. That proves you’re human, you can empathize with their pain and suffering, but right now I need you to keep your cool and help me go after the bastards that did this.”

“Yes, that we will do. In my mind they are already dead men.”

Napoleon sighed; at least Illya was calm.

“Just keep your focus on the task at hand.”

The Russian quietly nodded, but still looked down at the bodies strewn everywhere. Who knew what THRUSH had used on them, they were nothing but human guinea pigs in another one of their cruel experiments.

For a moment Illya’s eyes welled up. Visions of the multitudes of people he saw die while in the concentration camp outside Kiev always haunted his sleep, but now these were not memories, these were more victims of genocide; more gypsies murdered. In a way they were his people, being part gypsy himself.

“When will this end Napoleon?”

“I wish I could answer that. Right now it’s you and me; we’re here to stop it from happening again in this little part of the world. We’ll keep fighting until these maniacs are eradicated.”

“They never will be, do you not understand Napoleon? One is eliminated and another is standing in the wings ready to step up and start it all over again. Stalin, Hitler and countless other maniacs ordering the deaths of millions of people in Europe, Africa, the Middle East, India, China, the United States...everywhere. People who were the wrong religion, the wrong color, the wrong ethnicity, wrong political beliefs. How can we fight against such blind prejudice? Their lust for power is insatiable.”

“Tovarisch, we fight one at a time. We fight the good fight, and if we fall there’s others ready to step up and take our place too. You can’t let this get to you; I know it’s hard. It’s hard for me too.”

Napoleon clapped his partner on the shoulder and suddenly pulled Kuryakin into a bear hug.

“Thank you my friend,” Illya wiped his eyes with his sleeve.

They waited until dark, and that’s when they made their move on house THRUSH had selected to use as their satrapy. There were no guards posted as they were over confidant, having killed everyone in the immediate area; it was presumed no one of any significance would be around.

Without entering, the UNCLE agents set explosives at all four sides of the house at the base of the foundation.

They barred the doors, blocking the exit so no one could escape, and disappearing into the darkness, they readied themselves for some very big explosions.

Illya kept track of the time on his wristwatch and counted down in Russian.

_“Desyat', devyat', vosem', sem', shest', pyat', chetyre, tri, dva, odin.”_

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The huge explosives went off like clockwork, blowing the structure to smithereens. What was left went up in flames; no one survived, that was obvious.

It wasn’t the UNCLE way not to give fair warning to allow people to evacuate, but to Napoleon and Illya, in this case, the end justified the means.

As they moved in to survey the destruction, Napoleon carefully watched his partner. Illya was quiet, reserved and said nothing.

“How do you feel tovarisch?”

“Unsettled, but I will be all right. We do what we must, go where we are told and do as we are told.”

“Illya we’re not automatons; may I remind that you and I bend the rules time and again. We just did here.”

“Yes,” Illya nodded, we do quite often, but still…”

“No buts Illya. We broke the rules today and it was for a good reason. Maybe it’ll send THRUSH a message that UNCLE doesn’t mess around anymore.”

“There might be consequences to our actions, and I do not mean for us. THRUSH may seek revenge...Napoleon we may have just started a war.”

“Illya my friend, the war started the day THRUSH began its quest to conquer mankind. If you recall their history that began back in 1901 under the name of Krafthaus, but eventually they became the Technological Hierarchy for the Removal of Undesirables and Subjugation of Humanity.”**

“Yes I know, in 1919, Napoleon, but the U.N.C.L.E. did not come into being until 1946, so THRUSH has had quite a bit of time to gain their foothold around the globe.”

“I know, hey Illya I never said this was going to be easy.”

“A truism if ever I heard one,” Illya finally smiled.

Napoleon contacted headquarters in New York, informing Waverly of the outcome. The Old Man said nothing untoward and Solo sensed his boss was pleased.

He supposed a bit of revenge now and then wasn’t beneath Alexander Waverly; he’d seen his fair share in the field as a British Intelligence agent and understood the game.

“Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to wait until one of our crews arrive for clean up. Some sort of chemical explosion as it were, that will have to do as the reason for the death of the local Roma population.”

“Sir, isn’t it about time the world was told about THRUSH and what they do?” Napoleon asked.

“I’m afraid that might create even more panic. People in the states already have their nerves frayed by the fear of nuclear war with the Soviet Union. Telling them there is a organization that wants to murder innocents to suit their purposes...I think not. The memory of Pearl Harbor is an open wound. The horrors of Hitler and his ilk are too fresh in people’s minds. Europe still hasn’t fully recovered from the war. No Mister Solo, telling the world of the existence of THRUSH would be ill-advised.”

“Yes sir.”

“Contact me when you are done there; I may have another assignment for you.”

“Sir would it be possible to have a few days off. This assignment was pretty hard on Mister Kuryakin,” Napoleon lowered his voice and made sure his partner was out of ear shot.

”It brought back a lot of bad memories for him seeing all these innocents killed, especially the children.”

“I’m not in the habit of coddling my agents, but very well. Let me know where you will be staying. Waverly out.”

Kuryakin walked up behind him. “You know I heard what you told him about me.”

“Does that bother you?”

“Not really. I know you are looking out for my best interests.”

“Good, then how about we head to Rome. Good food, beautiful women and moonlit nights.”

“I think it is supposed to rain.”

“Illya, just go with it for once, will you?”

“I did not say no.”

In truth Illya had spectres on his mind, not the ones from his childhood, but those of the men here that he and Napoleon had in essence, executed. Would they haunt his dreams as well?”

Only time would tell…

After getting a hotel room they headed out for dinner, avoiding the trappings of the Via Veneto, they found a nice out of the way restaurant favored by the locals.

They ordered antipasto, Bucatini Amatriciana...a thick sort of thick spaghetti with guanciale, pecorino romano cheese, white wine, San Marzano tomatoes, black pepper, and chili. The main course was Saltimbocca a la Romana made with pounded veal, prosciutto, and sage. The meat was stuffed, rolled up and cooked in white wine and butter. It was all accompanied by a lovely bottle of chianti. To end the meal there was cannoli and cappuccino.  


Kuryakin left the restaurant alone as Napoleon, after flirting with the waitress, had possibly found a paramour for the evening.

It was nearing the end of October, but the temperature made for a comfortable evening and Illya opted to stroll back to their hotel.

He became aware of a steady **_click click click_** sound coming from behind him as he headed down the street; he suspected someone might be following him, so he stopped.

Reaching into his jacket, he took hold of his gun while simultaneously dropping a book of matches to the ground.

This gave him the excuse to turn and begin to crouch as he pretended to reach for it, enabling him to see who it was.

To his surprise, it was an old lady helping herself to walk with a cane.

He grabbed the matches, and nodded to her.

_“Buonasera signora._” He said good evening to her.

“Young man,” she spoke English, with a British accent,”I wonder if you could point me in the right direction? I’m looking for…”

Unexpectedly, the Russian felt a sharp pain in his leg; she’d jabbed him with the tip of her cane. 

He felt light headed and in a matter of seconds Illya collapsed to the sidewalk.

  
  


* ref to [“Bayushki bayu”](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/7638094/1/Bayushki-Bayu-Hush-a-bye) and[ ''Beginnings”](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6767104/1/Beginnings)  
*[* **UNCLE Chronology**](http://www.pjfarmer.com/woldnewton/UNCLE.htm)


	2. GLUTTONY

_**Gluttony:** derived from the Latin gluttire meaning "to gulp down or swallow", means over-indulgence and over-comsumption of food, drink, or wealth items, particularly as status symbols. _  
  
  
  
Kuryakin woke, feeling quite groggy. It took him a few seconds to realize he was strapped into a chair, not a standard chair but perhaps more like one would find in a dentist’s office.

He was within the halo of a spotlight and that was preventing from seeing anything else around him except for the inky blackness.

“Hello,” an eerie voice spoke to him from the dark. “I suppose you’re wondering what happened to you.”

“It had crossed my mind.”

The voice was neither male nor female as it was being disguised electronically. That told Illya it had to be someone he might know.

“Why are you afraid of revealing yourself, will I recognize real your voice?”

“I’m not afraid at all. It’s rather fun disguising one’s self, it is after all nearing Halloween. I know you like doing that don’t you Kuryakin, pretending to be someone else?”

“Like? Not really, disguises are just part of the job. I make use of them when they are necessitated. Why do you not reveal yourself, or are you a coward?”

A bowed figure stepped into the light, clothed in a flowing black robe, the face was obscured by a cowl. When it straightened up, a skeletal mask was revealed.

“That is original,” Illya said with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“I think it’s time to begin.”

“Oh goody. I was beginning to become impatient. What are you going to do, try to scare me, beat me, torture me? I have experienced it all and nothing you can do to me will…”

“I think you’ll find this a rather fulfilling experience.” The voice laughed, it was a sinister sound that gave Kuryakin the chills.

A set of clamps swung round on either side of Illya’s face, and after struggling to avoid them, they finally took hold of both sides of his mouth. A third clamp appeared and drew down his lower jaw, forcing his mouth to open painfully wide.

He was unable to speak, but made what sounds he could in protest.

“Now it’s time to feed the little piggy!” The voice cackled. “Open wide.”

A hose was shoved into Illya’s mouth, and something began to ooze from it.

It tasted like chicken soup.

He swallowed and swallowed as it was forced down his throat.

Then it changed, now it tasted like lasagna. This time the substance wasn’t as liquid and Illya began to choke. He moved his head forward and vomited down his chest.

“Naughty naughty Mister Pig, we mustn’t waste food. Think of all the starving children out there who would give anything to eat just a few morsels.”

After gasping and catching his breath the feeding began again. He gagged, feeling like he was choking as more food was shoved down his throat.

Little by little he could see his stomach becoming distended, bloated like a big fat Santa Claus belly.

As the food continued to be forced down his gullet, he thought he would explode.

Mercifully, he passed out...

Illya Kuryakin’s ability to pack away food was legendary; it was not lost on quite a few people who had seen him eat in the Commissary.

There were some who thought him guilty of gluttony, despite the fact that the Russian remained pencil thin.

Anyone who saw him working out in the gymnasium knew that he was a lithe, muscular man with not an ounce of fat on his body.

Despite that, he would still hear some whispers behind his back about him eating like a pig. Illya had become accustomed to such insults and he ignored them for the most part, right along with the Pinko-Commie put downs. At least he maintained the appearance of ignoring them, but sometimes the words hurt.

He would never let anyone know that.

Like many other field operatives, the Russian was troubled by bad dreams; who wouldn’t be when your life was constantly in danger while you were dealing out death yourself with a gun?

He had those dreams, but it was ones from his youth that gave him his true nightmares.

Guilt was an emotion he forced himself to ignore, but it was the dreams from so long ago that often preyed upon him when he slept.

He was haunted by the ghastly images of starving people who suffered and died in the concentration camp just outside of Kyiv.

There was no guilt on his part for their deaths; there was nothing he could do to help those people, not even his friend Irina who was raped and impregnated by a Nazi; she was sent off to one of the death vans.

He was just a malnourished boy of ten when he escaped the camp along with thirteen others.

Nearly dying of starvation, he was saved thanks to the Red Army who rescued him and liberated what was left of Kyiv.*

Tonight though, he had a different dream and it had nothing to do with those ghastly eyeless faces that stared at him from the past, clawing and pulling him into their eternal agony.

He woke with a gasp...

“There you are,” Napoleon spoke.

Illya raised his head in confusion. He was in the Medical Suite at headquarters in Rome.

“What...what happened?”

“You were found passed out on the sidewalk about two blocks from our hotel.”

“An old woman, there was an old woman with a cane and she struck me in the leg with it. Must have been some knockout drug on the tip of it.”

“There was a woman all right, she said you tripped on her cane and hit your head on the sidewalk. After finding help, the Carabinieri were called because your gun was spotted. Poor lady thought you were some sort of mobster.”

Illya lifted the sheet, looking at his legs but saw no sign of injury. His stomach was as flat as always.

Napoleon could see the confused look in his partner’s eyes.

“You do have a rather sizable lump on your head.”

Illya reached up and feeling it, he winced. “Ow.”

“Is there something wrong tovarisch? Something bothering you besides that lump? You all right?”

“Just a dream,” Illya realized that’s what it was.” I am fine."  
  
It was strange, he thought, perhaps people’s comments about him over indulging in food had gotten to him after all. His subconscious had finally let it loose, but it was all a dream.

It wouldn’t do for that to be yet another continuing nightmare for him.

“Want to talk about it?” Solo never got a yes after many times of asking that same question.

“Napoleon, am I a glutton?”

He was taken aback by that question. “Umm, no, I don’t think so. Didn’t you once tell me you had a high metabolism and needed a lot of calories? Though in a way, you are a glutton for punishment when you goad our captors with your snarky backtalk.

“Yes, that is true.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to tell me what’s going on in your head?”

“No”

The man was as stubborn as ever and Solo knew from experience not to push the issue.

Illya was being kept in Medical overnight for observation, and Solo lowered the lights before leaving.

“Good night and pleasant dreams,” he whispered.

Upon returning to headquarters in New York, Illya as always, took care of their paperwork. By the time he was finished it was around noon and his stomach told him it needed sustenance.

Napoleon was off on a lunch date with one of the women from Translations, so Kuryakin headed to the Commissary by himself.

As he stood in line with his food tray he suddenly felt as if all eyes were on him, watching and whispering about how much food he’d pile on his plate today. He swore he could hear their voices as they called him names like pig, and glutton.

Instead of a bowl of vegetable soup, Illya asked for a cup. He filled his plate with a very small portion of beef stew and dumplings. There was chocolate cake among other things for dessert, but he passed on them all.

The chef, nicknamed Cookie, couldn’t believe his eyes.

“That’s it Mister K? You feeling all right?”

“I am fine.” He passed a note to Cookie and upon reading it the man winked at the Russian.

No one stared at him now. There was no way they would think he was guilty of gluttony, and that made the Russian smile. Somewhere in the back of his head he could still hear their voices and the name calling.

After finishing his meager lunch Illya returned to his office and ten minutes later a tray was delivered.

It was a double portion of stew with extra dumplings, a Ceasar salad, and two slices of German chocolate cake. All that was accompanied by a carafe of hot water for tea and a jar of raspberry jam to sweeten it.

Settling in, after putting a napkin on his lap, Illya tucked in to his meal.

He was not a glutton, and satisfying his appetite in this manner would stop him from being misjudged. Granted he could just explain to people that he had a high metabolic rate and so forth, but that went against his mantra.

“The less people know about you, the longer you will live”

This he learned, among other things, from his handler, and eventual lover, Katiya Revchenkov, when he was stationed at the Sorbonne. He was but eighteen years of age, young and foolish and why she betrayed him, setting him up to look like he was incompetent, he could never understand. Still it came as no real surprise to him as betrayal was always a possibility in the spy game. *

That was a part of his past that was the least of his concerns.

Now if he could just figure out a way to end the other whispers besmirching his ethnicity and political beliefs…

* ref.[ “First Kill”](https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6758034/1/First-Kill)


	3. GREED

_**Greed** is an inordinate or insatiable longing for material gain, be it food, money, status, or power. As a secular psychological concept, greed is an inordinate desire to acquire or possess more than one needs. The degree of inordinance is related to the inability to control the reformulation of "wants" once desired "needs" are eliminated._

  
  
Illya just didn’t seem like himself lately; no one else might have noticed it, but Napoleon knew his partner and friend all too well.

After that head bump incident in Rome Illya had begun taking his lunches in their office. He’d refused invitations to go out to Chang’s Chinese restaurant even though it was the favorite place for the partners to dine as it was close to headquarters.

It was highly suspicious for the Russian to turn down a free meal...

Neither man had been given an assignment as of late and Napoleon wondered if his partner was a little bored. Illya had no projects going in the lab, and for an egghead like Kuryakin, he needed to keep his mind occupied, but now reading books and journals didn’t seem to satisfy hm.

Still there was something eating away at his partner, and Napoleon was determined to find out what it was.

He made several invitations for Illya to have dinner with him at the 21 Club as he thought the Russian would relax over of steak and tails, one of his favorite meals. Napoleon was convinced that would make his stubborn friend open up about what might be bothering him.

Illya declined and kept to himself, going straight home after his shift had ended and was generally being rather surly.

Over the following days Napoleon noticed that there were deliveries from Chang’s several times to Illya’s apartment, and that made him begin to wonder.

His partner had been taking his lunches more and more in their office, and now eating take out Chinese food home alone; something strange was going on with Illya Kuryakin and Solo was going to find out exactly what that was.

He knocked on Illya’s apartment door, the coded knock that he and his partner had made up a long time ago.

“Illya?”

He knocked again.

“Go away Napoleon.”

Solo took his key to Illya’s apartment and opened the door. Once inside he was shocked at what he saw. There was food everywhere, take out containers, fruit, pies, canned goods and a cooked chicken that looked like it had been devoured right down to the bones.

“Okay, you going to tell me what’s going on? You’re stockpiling food for something? Did the Kremlin tell you they’re dropping an atomic bomb?

Illya walked out of the kitchen, holding a container of lo mein in one hand and chopsticks in the other. He’d just swallowed a mouthful of food.

“Do not be ridiculous. I...I just did some grocery shopping and did not put it all away.”

“A little? Being greedy shopping for yourself to survive the end of the world and not letting me in on it. Know something that I don’t know?”

“No. Would you care to join me? I have plenty of Chinese food.”

“So I noticed. Tovarisch, what’s going on with you? Ever since you had that hit on the head in Italy, you’ve been acting strangely.”

“I suppose I have,”Illya sighed. “ I have had a recurring dream about food and now my appetite seems to have become insatiable. In the waking hours I have been lusting for food like a glutton, it is as if I am truly greedy for it. I feel as though I am under some sort of spell.”

“I’ll agree about the food thing. You’ve always had a bigger than average appetite, but this isn’t normal for you. Maybe you should take a trip back to Medical and let them run some tests.”

“No. I will work through this myself. Now are you going to eat some Chinese food with me or not?” 

Illya was quite short with him but Napoleon finally relented and said yes to sharing the meal with his partner. Maybe he could get him to open up.

Though Solo tried his best, he couldn’t get his partner to let his guard down, nor could he convince him to take a trip to Medical.

Kuryakin was a stubborn as they came, but his current behavior had Napoleon spooked.

They finished their meal with a couple of Tsingtao beers, and even though it wasn’t that late, Illya was already yawning.

After helping his partner to clean up Napoleon bid Illya good night. He hoped this was the end of it.

Illya went straight to bed, and again the same dream of being force fed returned.

“Open wide,” the voice spoke to him again. “Not only are you a voracious pig Mister Kuryakin, you are a lazy good for nothing.”

Kuryakin closed his eyes as the food was forced down his throat, but this time he relaxed and let it happen.

He no longer cared.

That feeling frightened him as when you stopped caring, it invited mistakes which led to negligence and such things were an open invitation for a visit from death himself.


	4. SLOTH

In his Summa Theologica, Saint Thomas Aquinas defined** sloth** as "sorrow about spiritual good" and as "sluggishness of the mind which neglects to begin good... It is evil in its effect, if it so oppresses man as to draw him away entirely from good deeds.

Napoleon was a bit surprised when he discovered his partner had called out sick the next day. Unfortunately he was busy with his duties as Chief Enforcement Agent and couldn’t fine a free moment to call him.

Normally Illya would be here to help him with his paperwork and agent evaluations, so without Kuryakin, things became a bit bogged down.

Before he knew it, the day was over and just as Napoleon was going to make that phone call to his partner, the Old Man summoned him into his office.

It was a last minute assignment, and Waverly being aware that Kuryakin was under the weather, Solo was partnered with Mark Slate.

The mission was more of a milk run as they were to escort a diplomatic pouch from New York to Quebec. It was an uneventful assignment with a quick turn around, though Napoleon did take the time to show Mark around the city.

Speaking Quebecois, Solo impressed the Brit as Mark had always heard how terrible Napoleon’s French accent had been, of course the source of that information was Illya. Mark never knew when the Russian was joking or not.

“So mate, your partner was always putting down your French accent, when in actual fact your ability to speak Quebecois…”

“Exactly Mark, though Illya laid off the complaints once he understood that I was speaking the Quebec dialect of French.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.”

“Say, Mark I have a question for you. Has Illya seemed to be acting a little strange to you lately?”

“Strange? Cor, when doesn’t he act strange? I have noticed that he’s been keeping to himself more than usual. I suppose it’s just one of his moods.”

“I think it’s more than that.”

“Really, like what?”

“Not sure.”

After returning to New York several days later, Napoleon and Mark went their separate ways. There was no rush to do paperwork as Solo had given a verbal report to Waverly since everything had gone smoothely.

Napoleon left headquarters, heading to his apartment building with the intention of checking on his partner.

As always he knocked, but not hearing a response, he unlocked the door and walked in.

The apartment was dark, and Napoleon flicked on a light switch. What he saw caught him completely off guard.

The place was a complete mess, with clothing scattered about, books toppled on the floor, empty takeout containers on the table and there was the distinct odor of rotten food.

“Illya?” He called his partner’s name several times before hearing a noise coming from the bedroom.

“Are you all right?”

Kuryakin came shuffling out, dressed in a ragged tee shirt and sweatpants. His hair was unkempt, his face unshaven and he looked as though he’d gained quite a few pounds.

“What the hell?” Napoleon blurted out. “What’s happened to you?”

“Nothing. I am fine as always.”

“No you’re not. Look at yourself Illya. I know you can be a bit of a slob at times but this...this is just downright slothful. Good God man... and what is that smell?”

“Oh, the trash. I have not taken it out to the dumpster in a few days. I will get around to it.”

“No, I’ll do it. You’re going to go take a shower, shave, and get dressed. You’re coming to headquarters with me.”

“Napoleon, not now. Just leave me be for pity’s sake.”

“I will not. I’m giving you an order as your superior.”

Kuryakin shrugged his indifference.

“Move it!” Napoleon barked.

Illya cursed at him in Russian as he walked into the bathroom.

“I heard that tovarisch.”

“Otvali!” He used the Russian equivalent of the F-bomb.

“Language Mister Kuryakin; I am your superior.”

“Something you never let me forget,” Illya slammed the door after himself.

While Kuryakin bathed, Napoleon disposed of the trash and the empty take out containers. He picked up the clothing, leaving it all atop the sofa. The books and papers he stacked in a corner.

Illya exited the bathroom wrapped in a towel, heading to his bedroom and it was then Solo really got a look at the weight his partner had gained. He never thought he’d see Illya Kuryakin with the equivalent of a beer belly.

After a few minutes he returned, dressed in a clean sweatshirt, sweatpants and sneakers.

“You’re not going to headquarters dressed like that.”

“This is the only thing I have that fits. I cannot close my trousers or button my shirts.”

“Oh. Well then let’s go.” 

Napoleon had ordered a cab and it was waiting curbside for them when they exited the apartment building.

He decided to use the entrance to headquarters through the secure parking garage as that would reduce the number of prying eyes from seeing Illya in his current state.

They headed straight up to Medical where Kuryakin vehemently protested against being admitted.

Illya had to be restrained to allow the doctor to examine him.

Vitals were normal, his blood work came back fine. His sudden weight gain and change in demeanor was a definite head scratcher.

“This may be psychological,” Doctor Greene told Napoleon out in the hallway, away from the patient.

Somehow Illya heard it and he began screaming at the top of his lungs, refusing to see anyone in the Psych department. “I am not crazy,” he bellowed.

The doctor ordered Kuryakin to be sedated, and that made Illya protest even louder. If he hadn’t been restrained, he would have surely injured someone.

As the nurse gave Illya the injection, he quieted down. His protestations became mumbles until he was finally asleep.

Doctor Greene as well as Napoleon were completely bewildered at Illya’s condition.

“Do me a favor Doc, don’t say anything just yet to the Old Man.”

“Napoleon, do you think that wise? I really should report this.”

“Let’s wait until the Psych department has had a chance to see him, maybe that’ll give us some answers?”

“All right, but it’s on your head Napoleon. Mister Waverly might not take kindly to being left out of the loop.”

“I know…”

  



	5. WRATH

_**Wrath** is great anger that expresses itself in a desire to punish someone._  
  
  
Napoleon stood outside the doors to Mister Waverly’s conference room, knowing full well why he’d been summoned.

He remained quiet and simply straightened his tie. The last thing he did was run his hands along his temples to smooth back his hair.

Lisa Rogers was seated at her desk, but kept her eyes lowered. She knew what was going to happen.

As she looked at her intercom a red light flashed.

“You can go in now, and good luck.”

As the pneumatic doors opened with a quiet whoosh, he walked in, acting somewhat aloof.

“Good of you to be on time for once, Mister Solo,”Waverly harrumphed, though his back was turned to his agent.

Napoleon approached the conference table with confidence, not showing one ounce of trepidation.

The Old Man didn’t invite him to be seated, instead he made Solo stand there and wait like a schoolboy to be reprimanded for his misdeeds.

After several minutes passed Napoleon cleared his throat.

“I know you’re here Mister Solo and you will remain where you are, and in silence.”

Solo cringed, though he stood straight with his chin held high and his hands clasped behind his back. He’d been called on the carpet before and survived and supposed taking a few extra days in Quebec on the Command’s dime wasn’t sitting well with the Old Man, or Accounting.

Still, Napoleon held Waverly in high esteem and the thought of having disappointed him didn’t make Solo feel good about what he’d done. He regretted taking advantage of being in Quebec, and no doubt Slate had been read the riot act as well.

Fifteen minutes passed, twenty and finally, thirty minutes had gone by.

A tiny bead of perspiration appeared on Solo’s forehead and began to drift down to the bridge of his nose. He took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it away.

Napoleon found the courage to finally speak. “Sir…”

“Not another word Mister Solo. You are dismissed. I have only one warning for you; the next time you withhold information from me, there will be consequences. Don’t do it again. Now out before you really feel my wrath,” Waverly spoke sotto voce, driving home his point.

“Yes sir,” Napoleon said, now confused, “but may I ask what information you believe I’ve withheld from you?”

“You were aware of a serious change in behavior with Mister Kuryakin and you neglected to inform me of it; to make matters worse, you told Doctor Greene to withhold the information as well.”

“Yes, sir. I wasn’t sure what was going on with my partner and…”

“I do not appreciate hearing from my sources in headquarters regarding information that my CEA was aware of well before the fact. In the future you will let me know of suspicious behavior on the part of any of my agents. I’m not a mind reader, though you may think otherwise. I don’t know everything going on here, but I indeed must. Understood?”“Yes sir Mister Waverly.” Please don’t put any blame on Doctor Greene for this. It’s entirely my fault.”

“He’s a grown man and made his decision as well, now dismissed.”

Napoleon exhaled a long sigh of relief as the doors closed behind him.

“Congratulations,” Lisa said.”You’re still alive.”

“Very funny.”

“How’s Illya doing?”

“You know? Does everyone else in headquarters?”

“No, and I promise it’ll stay that way. There’s a few people here who’d just love to hear about Illya in his current condition.”

“Really? And who might they be?”

“Not going to tell you. They’re harmless enough and I don’t want you starting any trouble, even though I know you’re only watching out for Illya. Now go see to your partner Napoleon. I’m sure he’ll recover from whatever is wrong with him.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears Lisa…”


	6. ENVY

** _Envy from Latin invidia, is an emotion which "occurs when a person lacks another's superior quality, achievement, or possession and either desires it or wishes that the other lacked it."_ **

  
.  
Napoleon headed back up to medical and as he stepped off the elevator he heard it. Illya was screaming at the top of his lungs like a madman.  
He was begging for food, insisting that he was starving to death.

As he rushed into Kuryakin's room, Illya was still restrained in his bed but his eyes were wide with panic.

"Napoleon, please help me?" Illya repeated himself, this time in Russian, his voice filled with desperation, "Pomogi mne, pozhaluysta?"

"Illya, take it easy. It'll be all right." Napoleon looked to Doctor Greene.

"I have to sedate him again, nothing to knock him out, just to calm him down. This has to be psychological. I'm going to have someone from Psych come here rather than taking a chance on moving him."

"No no, please?"Illya began to beg."No sedative. I will...I will behave, you have my word. Please I am so hungry, I need something to eat. Napoleon please get me some food."

The doctor raised the syringe, getting Kuryakin to focus on it.

"Sorry Doctor. I will be calm, I promise, but I really am hungry."

"I'm afraid I can't give you anything to eat. You're going to kill yourself eating anymore calories. You gained an unhealthy amount of weight in a short time. You'll give yourself a heart attack if your eating isn't curbed. I'm bringing in Doctor Collins to examine you. What's going on with you, it's inexplicable as all of your tests have come back as normal. There's no chemicals in your system, so it has to be in your head."

"Please no," Illya's voice raised, but he instantly lowered it, trying to calm himself. "I can not abide psychiatrists...what they did to me back in Soviet Union, it was like torture. Please not again."

"Illya, no one is going to torture you. You're safe here in headquarters. Doctor Collins is one of the good guys," Napoleon insisted.

Greene motioned for Napoleon to join him out in the hallway, but this time they closed the door to Kuryakin's room.

"If we can't figure out what's wrong with him, I'm going to have to send him up to the UNCLE sanitarium in New York state. He's a danger to himself and possibly others."

Napoleon wasn't happy hearing that. The only thing he could do was hope that Doctor Collins could figure out what, if anything, was going wrong in Illya's stubborn head.

The doctor arrived and after speaking with Napoleon and Doctor Greene, he entered Illya's room.

"Hello Agent Kuryakin." They grey haired man pulled up a chair beside the bed. He wasn't wearing a white coat, and wore a cardigan sweater instead of a suit jacket. He looked like someone's grandfather. "I'm Doctor Collins."

Illya immediately rolled his eyes.

"Now now, I won't disrespect you if you don't disrespect me."

If Illya's arms were free, he would have crossed them defiantly in front of his chest. "I know who you are. You are here because they think I am crazy."  
"I would't call it that.I'm here to help you."

"Fine, do your worst," The Russian sneered at him.

"There's no need to be on the defensive Illya...if I may call you that? I'm here to try to find out what's going on with you."

"There is nothing going on with me that a little food would not solve. They have been starving me here.Since when does UNCLE starve its operatives? This is not Soviet Union."

"No one is starvig you. Food has become part of your problem; you've become obsessed about it. You lust after it, one might say you're greedy for it from what I understand. According to your partner, you've become secretive about your eating, hoarding food and become rather slothful. If I didn't know better, I'd say your behavior is mimicking a number of the seven deadly sins. At least wrath hasn't become involved yet, no violence on your part."

"Let me loose and you will see just how wrathful I can be,"Illya snarled. "You are just jealous of me, you envy me because I am one of the best field agents the UNCLE has ever had. And now you want to punish me for what? What did I do?"

"On the contrary Illya, you're not being punished. You are admired and well respected. Until recently you were fit, and on your game better than anyone else."

"I could still run rings around you. You are nothing but a pencil pushing shrink who likes to meddle with people's minds!"

Doctor Collins canted his head to the side as what Illya had just said made the proverbial light bulb go off in his own mind.

He called Napoleon and Doctor Green into the room and after a very quiet discussion, George Dennell was sent for.

He brought with him a device used to deprogram agents, a simple machine that gave the illusion of a black swirling line in motion against a white background. It had a powerful hypnotic effect on the subject, wiping their memories of the Command, if that was what they were told.

"I think Illya has been given hypnotic suggestions, powerful ones. There are defenses to prevent him from revealing what he's been told. Most defenses are formulated unconsciously, and can sometimes be contacted through the unconscious. Often, the victim will not even know the existence of the defenses, much less what thoughts or decisions they are constructed from. This may or may not not work."

They set up the machine on the bed table in front of Kuryakin and George turned on the switch.

"Illya look at the spiral, watch it spin. Watch closely and relax, relax. You'll hear nothing but the sound of my voice." Doctor Collins gently spoke.

He watched as Illya's facial expression went blank as he fell into a trance.

"Now tell me about Rome...what happened to you there?" Collins asked.

There was a slight hesitation before Illya answered.

"After leaving the restaurant I thought I was being followed. It was an old woman. I let my guard down and she jabbed me in the leg with the tip of her cane. When I awoke I...I was...was..." He seemed to be having difficulty speaking.

"Don't fight it Illya. Tell me what happened when you woke up."

He grimaced, squirming against his restraints.

"I...I was strapped into a chair. A woman held a sparkling pendant in front of me."

"Was it the old woman?

"No."

"Did you know who she was?"

"Yes, no..."

"Who was it?"

Illya became agitated now, struggling to free himself, but not just from the straps that held his body. He was fighting against himself, unable to reveal the woman's identity.

Collins changed his line of questioning. "What were you instructed to do?"

"Hungry, always hungry. Eat eat, but never enough. Food, need food all the time. She said I was a pig, a lazy pig so I should behave like one."

"Did she tell you to do anything else?"

"Yes," Illya pulled against the restraints; he was still fighting it.

"On Halloween I am to go into Commissary at eight o'clock. During party and I am kill guests and then I am to shoot myself in the head."

Napoleon pursed his lips as he listened. There was only one other time he could recall that Illya had been hypnotized and ordered to kill his partner; that was during the THRUSH Roulette Affair. After a prolonged battle between the two of them Illya thankfully came to his senses. This time someone had really gotten to him.

"Illya concentrate on my voice," Collins continued." You are going to ignore the commands you were given by this woman. I have a new commands for you, you are to go back to your normal eating habits, you are going to work out in the gym while on leave to shed unwanted weight, and most importantly you will not harm anyone, including yourself, on Halloween. Do you understand me?"

"Yes."

"Tell me your new instructions."

Illya repeated them back verbatim.

"Now I want you to close your eyes. On the count of three I will snap my fingers; you will wake feeling refreshed, and be your old self again. One-two-three."

Snap.

Illya opened his eyes and looked first at the doctor and then the others.

"Why am I here? What happened?"

"Long story tovarisch. I'll fill you in, but in the meantime it's good to have you back," Napoleon smiled.

"Where did I go?"

"All in due time Mister Kuryakin," Doctor Greene said."Now you need to rest."

"Illya, are you hungry?" Doctor Collins asked.

"No, not at all."


	7. PRIDE

The annual Halloween festivities were in full swing in the Commissary, not that they were usually held there. 

April Dancer, who held a costumed soiree of her own every year was out of the country, so the gathering was instead scheduled for headquarters, with Mister Waverly’s permission of course.

He always tried to make an appearance at Miss Dancer’s Halloween gathering, but it wasn’t always possible.

Having the party at headquarters was rather convenient and he considered making it a regular event, that was until his CEA filled him in on the current situation with Kuryakin.

Napoleon made him aware of what had happened to Illya, and both Doctors Greene and Collins insisted the Russian remain in Medical under observation, just to be on the safe side. 

There was no way to be sure Kuryakin had been completely freed from the negative hypnotic suggestions.

It was Solo’s hypothesis that the person who had done this to Illya had to be a member of the Command. It was more a gut feeling, but he suspected that person would be present in the Commissary to see if their plan would come to fruition.

Security did a check to see who from the New York headquarters was in Rome at the same time as he and Illya were there.

Trouble was, seven people from New York were in Rome. They were attending some sort of training seminar for members of the Translation Section. If any of them were a THRUSH mole, that remained to be seen.

Waverly had to steer clear of the gathering, just to err on the side of caution. Napoleon would be there, armed of course, as well as Mark Slate and Kitt Kittridge and Tommy Lopaka, head of Security and two of his people. The party would be the lure and the guests the bait...

Napoleon wasn’t sure if the culprit would reveal her identity by trying anything, once Illya didn’t show up.

Given everyone was going to be in costume, Napoleon finally had the bright idea of disguising himself in a blond wig and black facemask, dressed in a turtleneck and black suit, looking just like his partner, well close enough.

That would hopefully trigger the guilty party into giving revealing their identity. 

Mark, Kit, Tommy and the other agents were mingling, in costumes of course.

Slate was dressed as Dracula, Kit was made up like a Wolfman and given his rather thick red beard he didn’t need much makeup, Tommy was wearing a grass skirt and lei as he was made up to resemble the tattooed demi-god Maui...given Lopaka was Hawaiian, the costume suited him. His Special was hidden beneath the long grass skirt, strapped to his thigh.

The other two Security agents wore clown masks, but were dressed in regular suits, though garish ties were added as an accessory.

The song ‘The Monster Mash’ was blasting from a stereo that had been set up on a shelf behind the serving counter.

People were dancing as the tables and chairs had been removed. 

Cookie the chef was moving quickly, dodging and darting while carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres. He was dressed in his usual apron and on his head was a meat clever that looked as if it was embedded in his skull. A bit of catsup was added for effect.

He’d baked hot dogs wrapped in dough that resembled little mummies and they were a big hit.

Wanda, dressed as the mummy of Cleopatra, squealed, asking if she ate one would it be cannibalism?

There were ghosts, ghouls, goblins, skeletons go lore, and even the headless horseman, carrying his head tucked beneath his arm. Black seemed to be the color of choice for many of the attendees.

Thinking that, Napoleon could hear his partner’s voice reminding him that black wasn’t actually a color and that it was in reality the absence of color.

He mingled with the other revelers, trying to not be too obvious as he studied everyone.

“Oh my Lawd!” Napoleon recognized the voice as belonging to that of Heather McNabb. She was dressed in pink as a Southern belle, and looked quite attractive.

“Illya, can’t you come up with something more original, I mean a cheap dimestore mask, that’s it?”

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders, just the way Illya did, but not saying a word. His voice would have given him away. He was rather pleased with himself that she thought he was Kuryakin.

He checked his watch, as it was getting close to the time that Illya was supposed to start his killing spree, and that was eight o’clock on the nose. Not too late that people would have left the party, and from the looks of it the Commissary was now packed.

He watched as the seconds ticked away and the only thing he thought to do was draw his gun and point it at the others.

At first some of them thought it was a joke, but then when Napoleon raised the gun higher, holding it straight out.

Everyone gasped.

“What are you doing Illya?” Cookie yelled.

Napoleon watched as a figure dressed in a black cape with a cowl and wearing a skeleton mask moved to the side of the room, out of the way.

Just as Solo was ready to make his move, the pneumatic doors opened behind him. 

In stepped Illya, still dressed in a hospital gown, but in his right he held a Special. He must have somehow overpowered the agent standing guard near his room in Medical.

“Illya NO!” Napoleon spun round. He had to stop his partner from doing what he’d been programmed to do.

Illya fired his weapon before Solo tackled him.

It was, however, aimed at the cowled figure who remained to the side, but in seconds crumpled to the floor.

Napoleon wrenched the gun from his partner’s hand.

“Stoi! Podozhdi Napoleon! Ya v poryadke!” Illya called out in Russian.”That one, the one I darted. That is who did it to me!”

Solo helped his partner to his feet and removing his suit jacket, he handed it to Illya.

“Better put this on, otherwise it’ll be a full moon tonight if you get my drift?”

“Oh,” Illya knew that he was naked under the hospital gown and as they went, the backs always fluttered open. He accepted the jacket, though he wasn’t embarrassed by his lack of clothing.

Mark Slate and Tommy Lopaka were hovering over the downed figure and waited for Napoleon and Illya before the unmasking was done.

“No, let me do it,” Illya insisted.

He carefully lifted the skull mask revealing the woman’s face. It was Rowena Gordon from Translations. She was a girl he’d double dated with Napoleon a few months ago.

She came on too strong for the Russian, and it was obvious what she wanted from him. He didn’t like to bed a woman before he knew her a better and after her overly flirtatious behavior during dinner, he knew he wanted nothing to do with her..

At the end of the meal Napoleon and his date had disappeared and Rowena had become a little too hands on while Illya was trying to eat his dessert.

As he rebuffed her, she became angry and said he loved his food more than being with a pretty girl and called him a few names in Scots Gaelic, some of which were quite crude. 

He in turn called her an insufferable cow, and she stormed off from the restaurant.

Illya thought nothing of it and ordered another slice of apple pie.

“Illya, didn’t she double date with us a while ago?”Napoleon asked.

“Yes, the date did not end well.”

“And this is the effect you have on women, tovarisch?”

Napoleon signalled for Security to take her to a holding cell. It would be up to Mister Waverly as to what to do with her. Deprogramming? Tartarus...that was a distinct possibility. 

As she was carried off, Napoleon turned to the others in the room.

“Carry on everyone, the party’s not over.”

Someone turned on the stereo, blasting “I put a spell on you.”

He snickered to himself, thinking how apropos it was.

As he escorted Illya out to the corridor, he asked him a very important question.

“Why did you do it? Leaving Medical, almost in your birthday suit, getting hold of a gun...I’m almost afraid to ask where you got it, and why come down here and sleep dart Rowena. Most importantly, how did you know it was her?”

“I have my pride my friend. This was my mess and I needed to end it myself. I knew it was her, though I did not know it was Rowena, because she was wearing the same costume, or rather disguise she wore when she was playing with my mind. As to the gun, Agent Meredith is owed an apology for being hit on the head. I am afraid he will wake up with quite a headache.”

“Well Mister Kuryakin,” Waverly spoke from behind him and Solo.”As soon as you return to Medical please give Mister Meredith your apologies. He has quite a lump on his head. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a Halloween party to attend.” 

He set a deerstalker cap on his head and put the mouthpiece of a 1920 Dunhill pipe to his lips, not his usual Briar pipe but this one completed his costume as he was dressed as Sherlock Holmes. 

His usual tweed jacket and trousers were perfect to complete the look.

“Mister Solo I deduce that you will have your written report on this incident with Miss Gordon ready for me by the end of the evening, and please include all the information regarding Mister Kuryakin and his ahem...recuperation.”

Napoleon acknowledged his boss with downcast eyes. 

He returned to Medical with Illya, making sure the Russian was tucked in his bed. 

As Kuryakin handed his partner his jacket, he could see Napoleon was disappointed about missing the party.

“Here, I wrote this up while confined here. It should suffice as a report about what happened to me. I will add the bit about Rowena Gordon, so now you can go to the party. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thanks buddy I appreciate it.” Napoleon grinned.

As he exited the room Illya called to him.

“And bring me back something to eat. Hor d'oeuvres should do.” 

Solo did an about face, peeking into the room.

“Didn’t you just get over being brainwashed into eating yourself to death?”

“Well, yes but I am a little hungry. Just a snack please?” Illya turned on those baby blue eyes, giving Napoleon the most heart wrenching look he’d ever seen.

“Oh all right, I’ll have some sent up to you. Just a small plate mind you as I believe you have some weight to lose.”

Kuryakin patted his belly, “I suppose you are right. Forget the snack. By the way, nice costume.”

Solo being true to his disguise as Illya Kuryakin rolled his eyes before he disappeared from sight.

The next day Napoleon sat with Waverly at the big table as the Old Man looked over Rowena Gordon’s file.

He also had in front of him the report obviously written by Kuryakin, not typed as he would usually have done, but it was definitely the Russian’s handwriting. He said nothing.

Waverly was aware that his CEA returned to the Halloween party, but had done so after he retired for the evening. He had a private room available in guest quarters when staying late at headquarters would be inadvisable for him to return to Connecticut.

“It seems Mister Solo that Miss Gordon had a pre-med background and was studying to become a psychologist back home in the U.K. She was dismissed from university for her involvement in some sort of scandal. Apparently a fellow student was hypnotized by her and died. She told the victim to ‘go jump in the lake’ as it were, unaware of the fact the subject couldn’t swim. It was determined to be an accident by the local constabulary.”

“Needless to say, I think she’s going to need some psychiatric help herself,”Napoleon said.

“Indeed,” Waverly lit his briar pipe and proceeded to blow a smoke ring.


End file.
